Mortars and Masturbation

It’s 120 degrees and feels like a blow dryer is whipping sand into your face when the wind blows. I’m inside a port-a-shitter where it’s at least 15 degrees hotter but safe from the wind. I’m physically exerting myself, bringing my core temperature up even more. I’ve got my dick in one hand, and my Ipod in the other, holding it a few inches from my face playing “A Clockwork Orgy”. The sexy brunette just removed her bowler hat before mounting Billy Boy. She looks at the camera and tells me to “Viddy well” and calls me her “droog”. The sweat is pouring off my face as I eagerly try to finish the task at hand (literally, at hand). I hold my breath to block the smell of the dirty blue shit water beneath me and try hard to imagine that I’m somewhere else.
I’m no more than 3 seconds from finishing up when an explosion vibrates the hard plastic walls of my private sanctuary. My legs reflexively kick the door in front of me and my hands immediately grab at my trousers and pull them up while stuffing the Ipod into my pocket. I’m out the door in a flash when another explosion shakes the earth below my boots. I’m sprinting while bent over at the waist and the knees, running for the cover of our barracks. A third explosion hits somewhere behind me about 100 meters but it feels and sounds as if it is going off a few feet from me.
I burst into the open bay of the NCO’s room while tightening my belt at the same time. The ear phones of my Ipod are dangling out of my pocket. Everyone is frozen in whatever position they happened to be in before the mortars hit. Schmidt is sitting up halfway on his cot with a wide eyed, alarmed expression. SSG Watkins is in front of his TV wearing his big ass ear phones, his eyes glued to the ceiling as if he were trying to spot the incoming rounds before they hit. Three quick explosions, one after another, followed by peace and quiet. SFC Sal saw me burst into the room with my pants un-done. He laughs at me and makes a smart ass comment before rolling back over on his cot to resume watching porn. Unlike me, he doesn’t have the decency to go to the port-a-shitter to enjoy his skin flicks, he’ll do it on a cot right next to you.
Somebody from HQ platoon comes in and asks if we’re 100% (meaning, did any of your guys get blown up?). I check the Joe’s room and with the exception of a few dudes at the motor pool, we’re good. I send a couple guys down to get accountability of the others working on their vehicles. I don’t want to be the asshole that reports 100% accountability without actually checking only to find out later that I’m wrong and someone is lying in the dirt somewhere seriously wounded or dead.
I go back to the NCO bay and grab a bottle of water. I look around and everyone is back to doing what they do in their free time. A game of spades is going on, SFC Sal is watching porn, someone’s watching 300 on a portable DVD player, and someone else is reading a book called the Iraq Study Group Report or some such shit. No one notices as I slide back outside with my Ipod in hand and head back to the shitter to finish what I’d started before Hajj rudely interrupted. Toole steps out of another port-a-john wiping sweat from his forehead, an Ipod in his hand, and a big ass grin on his face. Apparently, he didn't let the mortars keep him from finishing.